


sugar on top of danger

by witching



Series: a strange sphere of medicine [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Begging, Biting, Blow Jobs, Choking, Come Eating, Comeplay, Crying, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Facials, Finger Sucking, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Licking, Light Bondage, M/M, Manhandling, Marking, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Season/Series 02, Sweet/Hot, Teasing, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: "The problem, to put it simply, is Martin. Or, to put it slightly less simply, the problem is that Martin is trying to kill him. Or, to put it slightly less simply and more accurately, the problem is that Martin is going about his regular business, but he’s doing it in the most frustrating way imaginable, and he’s doing it on purpose."
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: a strange sphere of medicine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765900
Comments: 15
Kudos: 245





	sugar on top of danger

**Author's Note:**

> a sequel! also at the request of **gabe** (@disasterfag on tumblr), who is full of wonderful ideas!  
> standard disclaimer: jons relationship to sex is complicated but he likes making the people he loves feel good and he enjoys the act of sex and he navigates the messy waters of attraction with martins support.  
> i gave martin so many orgasms bc i love him and he deserves it thank you for coming to my ted talk  
> UPDATE: i have made substantial edits to this fic to remove feminizing language referring to a trans male body.

_to bake a cake in the eye of a storm; to feed yourself sugar on the cusp of danger._

_// ocean vuong, ‘on earth we’re briefly gorgeous’_

* * *

There's a hot mug of tea on Jon's desk, rapidly cooling as he stares at it rather than drinking it, or doing his job, or anything at all, really. He's tried to record statements, but found that his voice kept going all high and broken in the middle, and every recording is a bust. 

The problem, to put it simply, is Martin. Or, to put it slightly less simply, the problem is that Martin is trying to kill him. Or, to put it slightly less simply and more accurately, the problem is that Martin is going about his regular business, but he’s doing it in the most frustrating way imaginable, and he’s doing it on purpose.

This frustration isn’t like the way Jon is often frustrated with Martin, historically. He’s not doing his job badly or being annoying or anything like that – in fact, Jon has found lately that Martin doesn’t bother him at all like he used to, though that’s more due to Jon’s changed attitude than any change in Martin’s behavior. No, Jon isn’t frustrated by Martin’s fumbling clumsiness or his professional inadequacies, not at all; he’s frustrated by  _ Martin. _

He’s brought Jon a cup of tea every hour, placed a hand on the back of Jon's neck, squeezed or scratched or dipped his fingers below the collar of Jon's shirt to make him shiver, and then he's left Jon to stew for an hour. When he comes back, he pretends not to notice that Jon hasn't drunk the tea, pretends not to notice Jon's hands white-knuckled on the desk, does the whole thing all over again and leaves.

For a bit right before lunch, Martin sits across from Jon at his desk and does his work there – and actually gets work done, unlike Jon. He sits there and flips through the pages of statements, his soft pink tongue sticking out from between his full lips in concentration, and Jon just stares while trying not to look like he's staring. But Martin knows he's staring, because again – he's doing it on purpose.

When he smiles, his tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth, curious and playful, soft against his teeth and his lips, and Jon… is thinking a lot about it. His tongue. And his lips. Martin goes to make tea again, comes back with two mugs, sets one in front of Jon and then sits down in the seat across from him again and sips it quietly. Jon does not sip his tea, but he stares at the cup with laser vision rather than give Martin the satisfaction of giving in.

Then it comes time for lunch, and Martin stands from his chair with a breezy sigh. Jon moves to join him, but Martin’s stretching his arms above his head, moaning obscenely and revealing just a sliver of his skin, the trail of hair leading down from his navel, the soft swell of his stomach, and suddenly Jon feels rather trapped. Martin, at least, knows what he’s doing, and so couldn’t claim to be surprised if he were to notice the tent in Jon’s trousers. But Jon still has to talk himself down before standing from his desk, for the sake of whoever they might pass in the hall on the way to lunch.

They stay and eat in the break room instead of going out, because they both have leftover Thai food from last night. Jon remembers it with a tightness in his gut, how they had ordered a takeaway and barely eaten any of it before getting quite distracted. He feels twice as distracted now, watching Martin carefully lift noodles to his mouth in polite little bundles. He doesn’t dare to think how much worse it would be if Martin were a messy eater.

Jon is only slightly disgusted with himself at the idea of being turned on by Martin slurping noodles. It’s ridiculous, but it’s also  _ Martin, _ and he’s quickly discovering that there’s almost nothing about Martin that  _ doesn’t  _ turn him on. A strange thing to learn about himself so late in life, but it could be worse.

Nothing in his life has ever felt like this – this raw passion and molten desire filling him up, making him feel like he could just burst into a million tiny pieces at the slightest provocation. Until now, Jon always thought people were exaggerating about this kind of thing, but now he’s painfully, horribly aware of the reality.

He’s still just watching Martin, eyes fixed solidly on his mouth as he chews, when Martin interrupts his thoughts with a question. “Yours or mine tonight, d’you think?”

Blinking in surprise, Jon shakes his head to bring him back to the real world. “Yes,” he says nonsensically, and then blinks again and corrects himself, “I mean. Mine?”

Martin nods, clearly not at all perturbed by Jon’s scattered brain. “Alright. Yours is good.”

He goes back to eating in comfortable quiet, and Jon goes back to staring. He hardly eats a single bite of his own lunch, too busy thinking about what he’s going to do to Martin when they get back to his flat after work. 

When their lunch break is over, Martin dabs at his lips with a napkin and somehow manages to make it look attractive. He wordlessly takes Jon’s food, knowing he won’t be finishing it at his desk, and returns it to the fridge before sidling up beside his chair and leaning down to bring their faces level.

“See you later, yeah?” he asks, and his lips are so close to Jon’s, and Jon almost doesn’t manage a jerky nod of agreement. 

Martin smiles, turns his head to brush the lightest kiss along the shell of Jon’s ear, and leaves him there to simmer. It takes nearly five minutes before Jon is able to move again, to return to his office and resume pretending to work.

He almost, almost, almost manages to record a statement. He’s painfully hard in his slacks, constantly now, not just when Martin decides to pull something, because he actually can’t stop thinking about it. But he almost manages to push through it and record a statement anyway. He’s about halfway through it when Martin comes in with another cup of tea, and he doesn’t say anything – he knows by now, how to avoid interrupting a statement, how to open the door slowly and without knocking to reduce the amount of unnecessary noise on the tape – but he sets the tea down on Jon’s desk and then puckers his lips in a small gesture of affection, a gentle hand in Jon’s hair and blunt fingernails dragging so lightly over his scalp.

Jon doesn’t finish the statement. He stops trying after that, starts just counting down the minutes until he can leave, considers faking sick just to go home earlier; it’s not like he hasn’t worked enough overtime in the past to make up for it. He doesn’t do that, only because it occurs to him that it would be rather pathetic.

Time passes slowly, but eventually the end of the day arrives, and Martin stops by Jon’s office, wearing his jacket and holding Jon’s out for him to take. He smiles, looking innocent as anything, and offers his hand for Jon to take as they leave together.

“You hungry?” Martin asks casually, and then he licks his lips, the little bastard.

“No,” Jon replies, his voice rough and low.

Martin furrows his brow, genuinely concerned for a moment. “You sure? You didn’t eat lunch –”

Jon stops him with a firm squeeze of his hand. “Martin,” he growls dangerously, “I haven’t thought about food all day. I haven’t thought about  _ work  _ all day.”

“Oh?” Martin’s eyes go wide, the picture of innocence. “Something on your mind, then?”

“You could say that,” Jon answers. “I’ve spent the whole day thinking about how thoroughly I’m going to  _ wreck  _ you when we get home.”

Martin’s breath catches in his throat, and Jon feels a surge of satisfaction at it. Only fair that he should be able to affect Martin, even if it’s a fraction of what Martin’s done to him. Martin clears his throat and answers roughly, “Right. Then we’d better get home, don’t you think?”

There is no conversation for the remainder of their journey back to Jon’s flat. Jon doesn’t take a full breath for that entire time, either. He watches Martin, and makes plans inside his head, and thrums with anticipation through every part of his body. By the time they make it to his building, Jon is almost desperate enough to push Martin up against the wall of the lift, etiquette and shame be damned. He holds back, but only just.

As soon as they step inside, Jon wastes no time. He closes the door and crowds Martin up against it in one deft, fluid motion, planting one hand flat beside his head, the other grabbing Martin's chin to tilt his face up. 

He kisses Martin first, before anything else. Martin knows what's coming, which means firstly that Jon doesn't really need to tell him – though he will, later, because he knows it turns Martin on to hear it – and secondly, that Jon will enjoy ramping up the anticipation. So he leans in with a predatory smile, eyes full of fire and locked on Martin's mouth, and kisses him.

It's deep and long and dirty, messy and wet and hot, utterly unreserved. He licks past Martin's lips, runs the tip of his tongue along the roof of Martin's mouth before sliding their tongues together, his breathy groans muffled against Martin's lips. Jon’s hands move to Martin’s cheeks, holding him fiercely, tightly, and Martin's plump fingers scrabble for purchase against Jon's chest, twisting into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer. 

He sucks Jon's tongue eagerly into his mouth, wanton little whimpers escaping him, and tries to shift his weight, to tuck his thigh between Jon’s legs and rock up against him. Jon allows it, for a moment, but then he growls low in his chest and catches Martin’s lower lip between his teeth, biting down hard, pulling a helpless moan from Martin’s throat.

Pinning Martin in place, Jon grinds down, pressing the full length of his erection against Martin’s thigh, hard and hot even through their clothes. Martin gasps softly when he feels it, tries to push into the touch, but he’s held fast by Jon’s hands.

“You like that, don’t you?” Jon asks, his voice teasing, so mocking as to almost be cruel, but still with the underlying warmth he can’t help but feel with Martin. “Are you happy with yourself, Martin? Satisfied, knowing that you turn me on like this? I’m sure you are.”

Martin’s lips are swollen, wet and parted, his eyes still closed from being kissed. He nods his head minutely, looking dreamy and half-drunk, and, well – Jon is going to fuck him hard, show him exactly how effective his teasing has been all day, but in this moment he genuinely can’t resist leaning down for another kiss, softer and sweeter, because Martin is just so gorgeous.

He kisses gently this time, moves his mouth against Martin’s like he’s trying to memorize the feel of his lips, the taste of his skin – which he is, always, mapping him out and cataloguing him and filing him away for safekeeping. Taking stock of where his pieces go, so he can put him back together after taking him apart.

“I’m going to take you apart,” he murmurs hotly, pulling away from Martin's lips and mouthing down to his throat to press the words against his skin like a hot brand. "I'll have you screaming, shaking, crying for me, fuck you until you forget your own name."

"God," Martin moans as Jon bites down hard on the delicate skin of his neck, "Jon, please."

"You want it so badly, don't you?" Jon pauses to suck a deep bruise into Martin's collarbone. "You've been fucking gagging for it all day, acting out because you're just such a slut for me, you couldn't keep it to yourself, could you?"

The questions are rhetorical, and Jon doesn't give Martin a chance to reply before sliding his hands up Martin's sides, slipping under his shirt and dragging his fingers along the curve of Martin's stomach, his ribs. He traces the planes of Martin's chest before taking both nipples between his fingers, pinching and tugging. His touch is merciless, pulling helpless moans and whines from Martin, making him arch his back and thrust out his chest eagerly, wordlessly begging for more.

When he decides Martin is sufficiently worked up, Jon moves to undress him, swift and efficient, before placing a hand on the small of his back and guiding him to the bedroom. "On the bed, please," he says in a cool voice, not looking up at Martin's face. He's working on his own clothes now, methodically stripping while Martin situates himself on the bed to be ready for him.

Jon gets undressed and then climbs on the bed, crawling between Martin's spread legs, leveling him with a look that could melt iron. "What did you think you were doing, teasing me like that all day?" Martin doesn't say anything, his mouth gone dry and his throat tight, so Jon leans in closer, places his hands on Martin's thighs and squeezes, just the hint of a playful threat. "You really ought to answer me when I ask you a question, love."

Martin swallows hard. “I wanted,” he says, then hesitates and starts again, louder and more sure of himself. “I wanted to make you want me.”

“Want you?” Jon raises an eyebrow at him. “But Martin, I already  _ have  _ you.”

“I wanted you to…  _ ruin  _ me,” Martin amends, his voice shaking just the slightest bit, from excitement and anticipation more than anything else.

“Of course,” Jon says sympathetically. “You thought you could just rile me up, play your little games, act like a slut to get what you want?”

Martin nods his head matter-of-factly. “Basically, yeah. Is it not working?”

Chuckling fondly under his breath, Jon traces patterns lightly over Martin's thighs. "You know it's working," he murmurs, bordering on admonishing. "You're very cute when you want attention. I'm just afraid you might enjoy it too much."

Rolling his eyes, Martin huffs out a soft laugh, little more than a breath. "It's sex, Jon,” he says with a long-suffering look, “there's no way to enjoy it too much."

Jon tightens his grip on Martin’s thighs again, fingertips digging into the soft flesh until he hears a sharp inhale in reply. "So I'm meant to give you precisely what you want,” he asks, his voice a dangerous purr, “encouraging you to repeat this kind of behavior? I don't think so."

The rise and fall of Martin’s chest stutters slightly, and his words come out in a high, breathy rush. "Are you going to punish me?"

"You'd definitely enjoy that," Jon replies.

“Then what, Jon?” Martin pushes himself up on his elbows a bit to cock his head at Jon and pout at him, his lower lip jutting out. “Make me beg for it? Make me grovel? Draw it out until I’m a mess, crying for you?”

“Full of ideas, aren’t you?” Jon teases with a laugh.

“Rather be full of something else,” Martin mutters under his breath.

"Ah, I see," Jon says, nodding sagely as if something has clicked into place. "You're  _ really  _ trying to push me.”

Martin pouts harder at him, eyelashes fluttering, brows drawing up and together. Seeing the pathetic expression, Jon worries that Martin might actually be distressed, and his resolve wavers for a moment. He lowers his voice, leans over to murmur, “Everything alright, love?”

Smiling softly, Martin licks his lips. “Yeah, it’s good,” he assures Jon. “Perfect. Keep going, please.”

“Good. Let me know, okay?” Jon dips low to press a soft kiss to Martin’s forehead. When he pulls back up, he lets his fingertips skim down the lengths of Martin’s arms to wrap his fingers around Martin’s wrists and pull them up over his head, pinning them down with a tight grip. 

Martin makes a noise halfway between a whine and a moan, spreads his legs further and bucks his hips up toward Jon’s. Chuckling fondly, Jon pushes his knee up between Martin's thighs, grins at the way Martin tries to rock down against him. 

"Do you need something, Martin?" he asks in a show of faux innocence.

"Jon, please," Martin gasps, desperate and strained.

"Please, what?" Jon teases. "Go on, use your words."

Martin huffs out a breath and a quiet growl – half in frustration, half arousal. “Touch me,” he whines miserably. “Fuck me, Jon,  _ please, _ I need you to fuck me.”

Taking Martin’s wrists in one hand to hold them in place, Jon moves his other hand down to Martin’s chest, pinches one nipple and leans in to take the other in his mouth. Martin squirms under him, arches his back, and Jon smiles as much as he can with his lips wrapped around Martin’s nipple. 

His eyes drifting closed, Jon lets out an indulgent moan, sucking hard and scraping his teeth over the stiff peak just to hear Martin’s helpless whimper. He pulls off of Martin’s nipple with a wet  _ pop, _ presses a messy kiss to his neck before moving to mouth at the other side of his chest.

Free hand stroking down Martin’s side, Jon curls his fingers tight against his waist, squeezing the soft flesh, gentle but possessive. “God, you’re delicious,” he murmurs hot against Martin’s skin, and then bites down on the side of Martin’s chest, sucking deep enough to leave a mark. "So perfect, my sweet boy. I could just taste you for hours, mark you all up until you're crying and begging for me."

"Oh, don't tease," Martin whimpers.

_ "Me _ don't tease?" Jon laughs, licking a stripe up the center of Martin's chest. "Bit rich, coming from you. What would you have me do, then?"

"Put your mouth on me," Martin pleads desperately, his back bowing while Jon nuzzles his cheek against his soft skin. "Please, Jon, kiss me, lick me, mark me, I need it."

Jon growls hungrily, his dark eyes drifting up to Martin's face. "Is that what you  _ need, _ darling? You're so wonderful when you beg."

"Please,  _ please  _ Jon, I  _ want  _ you. Please suck me, bite me, I need you," says Martin, and Jon can't resist any longer.

He latches onto Martin's nipple, sucks and bites hard until Martin cries out, an open, breathless moan. When he pulls away, he can already see Martin's skin darkening with bruises, hickeys and teeth marks, and he takes a moment to admire the view before moving to suck and lick around Martin's other nipple. Martin grows steadily more desperate as Jon bites and kisses his skin until he’s writhing and moaning underneath him.

Eventually, Jon pushes himself up onto his knees, takes Martin’s wrists from above his head and pins them by his sides. Looking up at Martin, he tilts his head to the side and puts on a sympathetic face. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

Nodding fervently, Martin manages a small squeak of affirmation. Jon smiles at him. "Not yet, I think. I want to taste you first." Martin squirms and whines, disappointed by the teasing but not about to protest at the promise of Jon sucking him off, and Jon chuckles, rubbing soothing circles into Martin's wrists with his thumbs. "I won't be cruel, darling. I'll give you a choice, even. I'm going to take you apart at my pace, and I'm going to have fun with it, but it's your decision whether you want me to make you come over and over until you can't form words, or make you wait for it, not let you come at all until I'm through with you."

Martin swallows hard, and Jon watches the indecision in his eyes with satisfaction. He doesn't prompt Martin for an answer, lets him come to a decision in time, and it comes only a few seconds later when Martin clears his throat and replies, his voice low and rough with arousal. "I want to come for you," he says determinedly, "as many times as you want. I can take it."

"Oh, I know you can," Jon purrs. "Such a good boy for me." He releases Martin's wrists at last, leaving them limp at his sides, and Martin reaches out reflexively as Jon pulls his hands away. "No," Jon tells him, shaking his head. "I'm going to go down on you now, and you're going to keep your hands where they are. Can you manage that?"

Martin looks conflicted for a moment, but he drops his hands, balls them into fists on the sheets, and nods his head. Jon rewards him with another smile, another “Good boy,” before dipping low between his legs, pressing messy open-mouthed kisses to the soft, delicate skin of his inner thighs, interspersed with sharp nips of his teeth.

One of Jon’s hands moves to cup Martin’s hip, fingers digging into the soft curve of his flesh, while the other slides up his thigh, deceptively gentle. He spreads Martin open with a wondering sigh, adoration writ on his face, and dips the tip of his thumb into his hole.

“Aren’t you such a perfect thing,” Jon murmurs sweetly, rubbing his heated skin with a gentle reverence. “So gorgeous and eager and all for me.” 

As Martin squirms under the praise, Jon lowers his head to wrap his lips around Martin’s cock and suck, reducing him to whimpers in seconds. He groans indulgently at the taste of Martin’s arousal, mouthing at him playfully, swirling around the tip of Martin’s dick and then dragging the flat of his tongue up along it. 

Casting a furtive glance off to the side, Jon preens at the sight of Martin’s hands clutching the sheets tightly, shaking with the effort of holding himself still. He smiles, his lips quirking up against Martin’s sensitive skin, and then dives back in, buries his face between Martin’s legs. Slowly, gently, Jon circles one fingertip around Martin’s hole before pushing his finger into the tight heat of him, licking around his entrance to ease the movement of his finger in and out.

Martin’s thighs are trembling, soft flesh struggling not to close around Jon’s head. His knees are bent, hooked over Jon's shoulders, so nothing but his own willpower is preventing him from locking his thighs tight around Jon's head. Jon nips and sucks at Martin’s skin as he slips another finger into him alongside the first; Martin cries out at the intrusion, the beautiful fullness of it and the sharp bite of Jon’s teeth on his flesh. 

“Jon, Jon, fuck,” he whines, bucking up against Jon’s mouth and pushing back down on his fingers. 

Jon responds immediately by crooking his fingers deep inside Martin’s hole, scissoring them to spread him open, and sliding his tongue in with his fingers to fill Martin further. Martin shifts his hips down with a breathless moan as Jon licks inside him, lewd wet sounds making his dick throb with need. 

As if reading his mind, Jon brings his other hand down from Martin’s hip to stroke his thumb over Martin’s cock, fucking him open with his fingers and his tongue in a concerted effort to draw an orgasm from him. One particularly forceful thrust of his fingers at the right angle has Martin bowing his back, his heels digging into the bed, his hands close to tearing the sheets as he comes with a high moan. 

Rather than letting up, Jon doubles down on his efforts, slides his fingers back into Martin’s hole as soon as he relaxes his muscles, coming down from the initial tension of his orgasm. He fucks Martin hard and deep with his fingers and moves to suck sloppily at his dick, pushing him past the crest of the wave and through the painful overstimulation until he’s coming again. It’s sudden and intense and Martin squeals, his thighs closing in on either side of Jon’s head as he sucks him through the aftershocks.

Martin whimpers and lets his body go slack when the sensations of Jon’s fingers inside him and on him tip into less pleasurable territory, just on the line between  _ perfect _ and  _ too much. _ Jon slides his fingers out with a messy noise and laps at Martin’s hole a few more times, eyes closed as he enjoys the taste of him, before he finally pulls back.

“That’s two,” Jon states plainly, looking Martin up and down with an analytical eye. 

He’s a picture: his chest rises and falls with short, panting breaths, his eyes heavy-lidded and fixed on Jon’s face. His hands are still by his sides, fingers still curled in the general shape of a fist but no longer clenched tight. After a long moment of looking his fill, Jon shuffles up on his knees and leans down to kiss him, slow and purposeful.

As the kiss grows deeper and messier, Martin gets bold, pushes himself up on one elbow and brings his other hand to Jon’s hair. He licks into Jon’s mouth, then around his lips, moves down until he’s not kissing Jon’s lips at all, but mouthing along his jaw and chin, licking his own taste from Jon’s skin with wanton, hungry little moans. Jon doesn’t object, just tilts his head back to give Martin better access to lick him clean.

Martin’s tongue is hot and skilled and uncareful, swiping along Jon’s chin to taste him desperately, until his skin is clean but for the slick of Martin’s saliva. Jon plants one last firm kiss on the center of his lips and then pulls back, looks at him with dark, heavy, lustful eyes. Martin stares back at him, lips slightly parted, waiting for Jon to take action.

Slowly, Jon lifts his hand to press his fingers against Martin’s lips, the three fingers that were just inside Martin a minute earlier. Martin opens up easily for him, laves his tongue over the pads of Jon’s fingers, licks around and between them to thoroughly clean Jon’s hand as well. His eyes flutter closed with a soft whimper as Jon presses his fingers deeper into Martin’s mouth, petting up and down the center of his tongue, thrusting in until his fingertips reach the back of Martin’s throat and he gags at the intrusion.

Martin sucks hungrily at the fingers in his mouth, allowing Jon to fuck them in and out at his leisure, relishing the hint of a choking constriction of his throat with every few thrusts. Eventually, Martin moves his hands, wraps his fingers around Jon’s bony hips and squeezes hard. Jon allows it for a few seconds and then pulls his fingers from Martin’s mouth, grinning at the despairing sound of loss that escapes Martin’s mouth.

“You seemed to be trying to escalate things,” Jon says with a smug quirk of his eyebrow. “I assume that means you want to come again?”

Martin doesn’t have the words to respond, just nods his head jerkily and lets Jon grab his forearms and pull him up onto his knees. He nearly loses his balance, but Jon sidles up behind him on the bed, wraps one hand lightly around Martin’s throat and shoves the other between his legs. As soon as Jon’s fingertips land on his oversensitive cock, Martin cries out, arches into his hand and then back against his chest, surrounded on all sides by Jon.

"You're so beautiful like this," Jon mutters in his ear, low and hot. "All worked up and shaking, panting for the chance to come. So desperate for it, and I'm the only one who can give it to you, because you're mine."

"Yours," Martin echoes back weakly.

"Mine," Jon repeats. "My lovely, sweet boy. You're a little cocktease, but that's only because you know how badly I want you, isn't it?"

Martin can hardly manage to nod his head in response. He whines desperately at the stimulation and the filthy praise, writhing in Jon’s grip, but Jon only doubles down, rubs his dick harder and faster, tightens his other hand just enough to make Martin fall still with a defeated moan. It takes his breath away, but whether that’s due to being choked or his own overwhelming arousal is unclear. 

Jon doesn’t move his hand from Martin’s neck or his fingers from Martin’s dick until he tenses up again, bucks into his touch and tumbles over the edge of another orgasm. His panting, gasping whines are hoarse and weak with Jon’s hand pressing into his throat, but it’s clear that Martin’s enjoying it well enough as he comes hard and immediately goes limp in Jon’s arms.

When he’s past the immediate aftershocks of his orgasm, Martin shifts his body – still encircled in Jon’s arms, but more gently now – and feels the hard, insistent line of Jon’s cock against his ass. Before he can think to get cheeky about it, Jon beats him to the punch, grinds up on him to make Martin feel it pressing thick and hot into his skin.

“Is that what you want, my love?” Jon murmurs dangerously in Martin’s ear. “You want my cock inside you? Want me to fuck you?”

Martin nods his head absently, his head gone foggy with arousal. Jon brings his hand from between Martin’s legs up to run fingers over his bruised and bitten chest, whispering filthy words to him the whole time. “You’re being so good for me now, aren’t you? So well behaved once you’ve gotten what you want. My beautiful boy, you just need to be held and touched and fucked, don’t you? You were made for it.”

As Martin gets lost in the stream of praise, thrusting his chest forward into Jon’s grip, Jon brings the other hand up to tangle in Martin’s hair, twisting his head around to kiss his lips, his jaw. “If you want to get fucked, you’re going to have to convince me, darling.” Martin’s eyes snap open at that, shocked and maybe a bit panicked, and Jon smiles at him like a shark. “Tell me how badly you need it. Tell me how big a slut you are for me.”

“Fuck,” Martin whimpers under his breath, then takes a deep breath to ground himself, to find his words. “Jon, please fuck me, I need it, I need you inside me. Please, I’m so empty without you, I need your cock to fill me up, please please  _ please.” _

“What are you, Martin?” Jon asks evenly, raising his eyebrows.

Martin swallows hard, bites his lip, and ekes out: “I’m a slut.”

His hand tightening in Martin's hair, Jon says with an air of innocence, “Not sure I really caught that, baby, can you repeat it?”

“I’m a slut,” Martin says again, louder, more confident, more determined. “I’m a slut for you, Jon, only you. I’m a dirty, needy slut and I need your cock to fill me up, I need you to fuck me, please." He pauses for a breath, but he's not finished, not done pulling out all the stops to get what he wants. He knows exactly how to play Jon, how to cater to his desires; it's almost unfair. "I’m yours, your slut, I’ll be good for you. I’ll be  _ so _ good, I promise, just please, please let me feel your cock in me. I’m so ready for you, I  _ need _ it, I need to be fucked.”

“Well, that certainly is a compelling argument," Jon says, arousal thick in his voice, belying the veneer of calm he's tried to maintain. "I suppose you can’t help how badly you need a cock in you.”

Jon maneuvers Martin, arranges him easily so he’s lying on his back, Jon hovering above him on all fours. Martin spreads his legs wide for Jon, choking back a moan and giving Jon big eyes. Kneeling between his legs, Jon reaches to grab lube from the nightstand, slicks up his cock efficiently. After carelessly wiping his fingers on the sheets, he takes hold of Martin’s wrists once more, pulls them up to hold them to the bed above his head, gripping them tightly enough that Martin feels a nice, warm certainty that they will bruise.

Taking Martin’s wrists in one hand to hold them down, Jon fists his other hand loosely around his cock, rubs the head teasingly across Martin’s skin. Briefly, he grinds down against Martin’s cock, making him gasp and try to arch away from the sensation, but Jon’s hold on him is secure. 

Luckily, he doesn’t tease for very long. He takes his cock in hand and guides it to the entrance of Martin’s hole, sliding into the tight heat of him in one smooth, easy thrust. Martin moans as he's filled perfectly, tries to shift his hips down to coax Jon into moving, but Jon makes him wait a long moment before pulling out a few inches and slamming back in.

“Fuck, fuck, Jon,” Martin whimpers helplessly, writhing underneath him. “That’s so good, fuck, you’re so good, Jon.”

“You’re doing so well, my love, taking my cock so well," Jon murmurs in response, dipping down to brush a light kiss over Martin's forehead. "Such a sweet, perfect boy for me.”

It’s not long before Jon works up to a punishing pace, pounding into Martin hard and fast, dirty praise falling from his lips while Martin is reduced to a shuddering mess beneath him. “Good boy, my good little slut,” Jon murmurs. “You're so good for me, so tight and hot around my cock. So eager to get fucked, taking me in so well.”

Martin is shaking, tears in his eyes, his breath catching with every phrase that leaves Jon’s mouth. Jon watches him with rapt attention as he holds him down and fucks him deep. “You’re a desperate little thing, aren’t you? So hungry, so needy. You just need to be fucked full over and over until you can’t even beg anymore.”

“Please, Jon,” Martin gasps, perhaps a bit spitefully, to prove he  _ can  _ still beg.

Jon rewards him by snaking a hand between their bodies, ghosting over the curve of Martin’s stomach and down between his legs. His fingers find the spot where their bodies meet, where his cock is hammering relentlessly into Martin’s hole, and then quickly move back up to stroke his cock decisively. 

“Go on, love, come for me,” Jon murmurs encouragingly. “Be a good boy and come on my cock, won’t you?”

Martin does, of course, only moments later, clenching down on Jon’s cock and shaking apart with a strangled groan. Jon lets out a broken moan of his own at the tight grip of Martin’s walls around him and fucks him through it, mouthing gently at his throat to soothe the intensity of his post-orgasmic sensitivity. When he comes down on the other side, Martin gasps and whines, a few tears slipping from the corners of his eyes and streaming to his temples.

Kissing a line from Martin’s neck up along his jaw and cheek, Jon laps at a stray teardrop, punctuates it with a kiss on Martin’s temple. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it, love?” he asks softly, deceptively sympathetic. “You begged me to fuck you, didn’t you? You’re being so good for me, my darling boy, so hot and perfect around my cock. Do you want me to come inside you?”

His hands flexing uselessly in Jon’s grip, Martin whimpers and cries and nods his head fervently. “Yeah, yeah, please,” he babbles half-hysterically.

Jon huffs out a satisfied breath through his nose, leans down to kiss him. His thrusts are slower now, but harder, decisive and deliberate, driving deep inside Martin and hitting a sensitive spot with every snap of his hips. He licks into Martin’s mouth with purpose, tastes him indulgently, and finally stills the movement of his hips, moans against Martin’s lips as he comes.

The sensation of Jon spilling inside him is enough to send Martin over the edge, to wring another small orgasm from him almost on the heels of the last one. He tightens around Jon’s cock again, squeezing him deliciously and milking his cock dry. Jon grinds his pelvis against Martin’s, rolls his hips to push himself just a bit deeper, to make Martin cry out and clench down on him again until Jon pulls out, spent and oversensitive himself.

As Martin cries out at the loss of Jon’s cock, Jon crouches between his legs to survey his handiwork. He releases Martin’s wrists, watches him flex the stiffness from his abused joints, and then lets his gaze travel down between Martin’s thighs. Spreading him open with one hand, Jon looks on in quiet reverence as Martin tenses, clenching his muscles, forcing a trickle of Jon’s seed to leak from his hole.

A soft, wondering sigh escapes Jon at the sight, and he dips two fingers between Martin’s legs, swipes up the drip of his come and lifts his hand to Martin’s mouth. Martin parts his lips without hesitation, taking Jon’s fingers into his mouth and suckling hungrily. He moans breathlessly around the fingers, hollowing his cheeks, letting his eyes fall shut with decadent pleasure.

“You look so good like this,” Jon murmurs gently, stroking along Martin’s tongue with his fingertips. “Such a hungry little slut, my lovely boy.”

Martin whimpers when Jon pulls his fingers from his mouth, trying to follow the movement of his hand, and Jon chuckles under his breath. “You want more, love?”

“Yeah,” Martin whines, wriggling to entice him to keep going. “Yeah, please, I want it.”

Jon complies with a smile, scooping up more of the come leaking from his hole and feeding it to him. Martin brings his own hand up to circle fingers around Jon’s wrist, to hold him in place while Martin tongues his fingers enthusiastically. When Martin tightens his grip and tries to take Jon’s fingers into his throat, tries to entice him deeper to choke himself on them, Jon shakes his head.

“Hm,” he hums thoughtfully, “you’re overeager, love.” He pulls his fingers from Martin’s mouth again, relishing the despairing sound he makes in complaint. “Are you getting needy again? Want to come for me?”

Before Martin can respond with words, Jon slinks down between his legs again, stroking his hands up and down Martin’s thick thighs, along the curve of his hips, and finally dipping his head low to get his mouth close to Martin’s cock. He hovers there for a moment, allowing his hot breath to ghost along the sensitive skin, and turns his head to mouth at the juncture of Martin's thigh and hip. Gently at first, then biting down and sucking hard, and finally soothing his tongue over the blooming bruise.

“You can touch, if you want,” Jon says, a soft murmur against Martin’s skin. He feels more than sees the stilted nod of Martin’s head before his plump hands twist into Jon’s hair, a grounding, comforting presence. 

He doesn’t pull, but nevertheless Jon leans in of his own volition and gets to work. He tongues tentatively around Martin's hole, lapping up the excess of fluids dripping from him, making thorough work of it, as if his goal is solely to lick Martin clean rather than to make him come. His hot, soft tongue is nimble and efficient, swiping up and down the expanse of his skin, pointedly avoiding his cock.

Martin squirms and whines under his ministrations, but keeps carding his fingers tenderly through Jon’s hair, offering up little hums of approval with each clever movement of Jon’s tongue. Jon opens his eyes, looks up at Martin’s face for a split second, and seemingly finds what he’s looking for, because he drags the flat of his tongue up against the length of Martin’s dick before moving lower, rededicating his efforts.

There is just the slightest tug on Jon’s scalp when he fucks his tongue into Martin’s hole, the tightening of Martin’s fingers in Jon’s hair accompanying the soft, breathless moan that escapes him. Newly encouraged, Jon thrusts his tongue deeper inside, tastes the intoxicating mixture of his own come and Martin’s arousal, stronger and more lovely here than in the excess dripping from him. Jon licks up inside Martin, finding sensitive spots along his inner walls, losing himself in the act of fucking him open with his tongue.

Distantly, vaguely, Jon is aware that he’s quite shameless in his vocal enjoyment of this. He sucks at Martin’s hole with a lewd slurping sound, moaning at the sheer hedonistic luxury of it, and thrusts his tongue in and out with a rhythmic series of greedy whimpers. He’s more focused on the taste of Martin, the feel of Martin’s fingers in his hair, the sounds of Martin’s pleasure.

He couldn’t say how long it is before he pushes Martin over the edge again, shuddering and moaning, his walls tightening around Jon’s tongue. Martin comes hard, harder than he would have thought possible at this stage. His thighs constrict around Jon, locking him in place as he licks Martin through the aftershocks of his orgasm, and then a few more times just for good measure, until Martin groans high in his throat and pulls on his hair.

Sitting back on his heels, Jon takes Martin’s hands in his own and rubs circles into his skin. “Good?” he asks, his voice low and thick with arousal.

“Good,” Martin says through heavy breaths. 

Jon smiles, his shoulders slumping in relief. “How many is that?”

It takes Martin a moment, but he answers in a hoarse voice, “Six.”

Nodding his head thoughtfully, Jon brings his hands to stroke up and down the outside of Martin’s thighs. “Do you want more?”

“God, Jon,” Martin mutters under his breath. “Yeah. I want – whatever you want to give me. Anything, please.”

“Alright, love,” Jon murmurs, slithering up the length of Martin’s body to lie atop him and kiss him soundly. He plants one hand flat on the bed beside Martin’s head to support his weight, brings the other up to cradle Martin’s cheek, licks along the seam of his lips with the tip of his tongue. 

Martin opens up eagerly and sucks Jon’s tongue into his mouth, brings his hands to rest on Jon’s waist and pull him closer, pull him down until their bodies are flush with each other from shoulder to waist, skin on heated skin. The gentle slide of their tongues and the mingled taste of them is enough to make Martin desperate, deepening the kiss until he’s sure he’s sucked the flavor of himself and Jon’s come clean out of Jon’s mouth. 

Grunting breathily against Martin’s lips, Jon gives him a sharp nip of his teeth in retaliation for his boldness. Martin whines and writhes underneath him, pushing up into the kiss and chasing Jon’s mouth as he pulls back just an inch or so.

“Greedy,” Jon admonishes halfheartedly, and doesn’t wait for a response before diving back into the kiss.

Martin doesn’t seem fazed by the reprimand, just accepts the return of Jon’s lips on his, Jon’s tongue pushing into his mouth. His hands move from Jon’s waist, migrating up the sides of his ribs, one coming to rest on the nape of Jon’s neck, the other blanketing Jon’s hand on his face. He opens his mouth wide and licks along Jon’s lips, his tongue, the sharp line of his teeth. 

After a time, Martin lets his hand migrate to the small of Jon’s back, plump fingers pressing into his skin to give Martin leverage to grind up against his thigh. He’s hard and eager again, bucking his hips up to get some friction from Jon’s skin as he whines wantonly into his mouth. 

For his part, Jon is beginning to feel the arousal return hot and heavy in his gut. His cock twitches at the knowledge of Martin trying to rub off on his leg, but it’s not long before Jon remembers himself and pulls away from the kiss to give Martin a soft sort of glare. Locking eyes with him, Jon rolls his hips against Martin’s, slow and deliberate, his cock growing harder as Martin gasps from the contact.

“Oh, love, did you think I was done?” Jon teases with another roll of his hips. “You can’t expect me to tap out after one round, not when you’re so deliciously appealing, showing off like you do. You turn me on so much it hurts sometimes, you know.”

As Jon mutters in Martin’s ear, he continues the steady rhythmic movements of his hips, matching the pace Martin had tried to set before. His string of praise devolves into quiet whispers of  _ Good boy _ and  _ So gorgeous _ and  _ You’re perfect, _ until eventually he stops talking altogether, choosing instead to mouth at Martin’s throat.

Martin cries out as Jon’s teeth sink into the side of his neck, hard enough to bruise, accompanied by hard suction that knocks the wind out of him. Jon gives him no time or room to recover, keeping his mouth latched onto Martin’s skin and bringing his free hand down from Martin’s face. He ghosts his fingers along the plane of Martin’s chest before quickly finding his nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingertips.

Eventually, Jon detaches his mouth from Martin’s neck, only to move an inch to the left and start in again. He maps out the constellations of marks on Martin’s chest, pressing his thumb into a bruise to hear Martin gasp, brushing the pads of his fingers over Martin’s nipples, tweaking them every so often. 

That alone is enough to have Martin panting and whining, but then Jon is also rutting up against him, his cock fully hard by now and grinding down against Martin’s. The friction is eased by lube and precome, their skin sliding together without difficulty. Martin rolls his hips up to meet Jon’s thrusts, manipulating the angle so Jon’s cock rubs against his as he moves.

Before long, Martin is making nearly continuous little noises, high, breathy moans with every scrape of Jon’s teeth, every thrust of his hips, every deft movement of his fingers. Jon doesn’t let up, keeps playing over Martin’s body like a finely tuned instrument until he comes again, panting and arching his back and clutching at Jon’s shoulders like a life preserver.

Martin shakes and shudders, his breaths coming in hard gasps, as Jon continues rubbing his cock against Martin's skin, pressing on his cock until Martin squirms uncomfortably. Pulling back, Jon looks down at Martin, his face covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes fluttering and his lips parted in an expression of exhausted bliss.

“Martin, sweetheart,” Jon murmurs, and Martin opens his eyes fully and looks up at him. “Do you want me to fuck you again?”

Biting his lip, Martin hesitates, thinks for a long moment. Long enough that Jon gets concerned and presses, “What do you need, love?”

When Martin answers, his voice is wobbly and rough. “I want it,” he says, “but I can’t, it’s too much.”

Jon pulls back, surveying Martin with a shrewd gaze. He hums thoughtfully, licks his lips, and gives a slow tilt of his head, eventually settling on the conclusion that Martin wants to be pushed. They’ve discussed it at length before, they have their words and signals, and Martin knew what he was doing, what he was asking for all day before they got into this. Above all, Jon trusts that Martin will stop him for real if he needs to. 

“But Martin,” Jon says in a voice like burnt sugar, “I seem to recall you saying you could take whatever I wanted to give you?”

“I did!” Martin says hastily, eyes widening in something close to panic, tinged with a hint of pride and relief and a healthy dose of anticipation at what Jon will do to him next. “I can. I want to.”

“Mm,” Jon hums approvingly as he leans in close again, “that’s what I thought.”

As Jon presses into Martin’s space, heat radiating from his skin, Martin spreads his legs further in invitation, tips his head back against the pillow. Jon kisses him, a messy, heated thing, all tongue and teeth, and only separates from his lips by a short distance to line up the head of his cock at Martin’s entrance.

He pushes in slowly, letting Martin feel every inch of his cock as it fills him. Martin’s mouth falls open in a silent gasp of pleasure, and he tries to fuck himself down on Jon’s cock, but Jon has his hands firm on Martin’s waist, holding him still. Only when he’s buried to the hilt inside the tight heat of Martin’s hole does Jon loosen his grip and swoop in to kiss Martin once more.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmurs hotly against Martin’s lips as he begins to pull out and fuck back into him. “So good for me, you’re – fucking  _ perfect, _ Martin.”

Moaning at the praise, Martin raises his hands to wrap around Jon’s biceps, fingers pressing warm against his skin. Jon fucks him slowly, the drag of his cock along Martin’s inner walls almost excruciating, torturous and heavenly at the same time. Each movement knocks the air from his lungs, forces a whimper or a cry from his mouth; he shifts his hips to meet Jon’s thrusts, clenches down on his cock as he pulls out, bites playfully at Jon’s lips while they kiss with a languid sort of passion.

“Jon,” Martin mumbles after a time. “Jon, I want –  _ mm, fuck _ – I want you to come on my face.”

The stutter of Jon’s hips and the hitch in his breath don’t escape Martin’s notice, but Jon recovers quickly enough, picks up his rhythm and answers in a tone rough with arousal. “I can do that, love,” he assures Martin. “You come on my cock again like a good little slut, and I’ll give you just what you need.”

Martin nods his head enthusiastically, tightens his hold on Jon’s arms. He’s close already, overstimulation be damned, and he knows that Jon would rub his cock if his hands were free, make him come within seconds, but that’s not what he wants. He wants to be good, to come on Jon’s cock without the need for anything else. It’s not necessary, not really, but it’s something of a point of personal pride for Martin, so he holds himself to it.

As it is, it doesn’t take very long at all to push him over the edge again. Jon fucks into him at just the perfect angle, with just the perfect amount of force, and Martin lets out a strangled cry and spasms around his cock. Jon pets the side of his face – the only part of him he can reach, with Martin still holding onto his arms – and coos soft reassurances while he comes down.

“Good boy,” Jon says, pulling out and soothing Martin through the sudden emptiness. “Such a good boy for me. You want to suck me off, don’t you? Want to take my cock deep in your throat and bring me to the edge before I paint your face with my come?”

Absently licking his lips, Martin nods. “Mhm,” he says, nearly worn out but still eager. “Yeah, please.”

Jon shifts to sit back on his heels, takes Martin’s hands to help him to his knees, letting him situate himself how he wants. Martin bends down in front of him, hands resting on Jon’s hips, and rubs his cheek against Jon’s thigh, waiting for permission. 

“Go on, then,” Jon tells him, “you’ve earned it.”

Without a beat of hesitation, Martin surges forward and takes Jon’s cock in his mouth, all the way to the root in one smooth motion. Jon grunts at the abruptness of the sensation, bucks his hips halfheartedly. Martin is too practiced at this point to gag, but he swallows around the hard length in his throat, somehow making the gesture pointed, and Jon looks sheepish for a moment.

Hollowing his cheeks, Martin bobs up and down the length of Jon’s cock, not wasting any time. He chases Jon’s orgasm with a singular determination, and before long Jon is tugging at his hair, warning him in a breathless voice, “I’m so close, Martin, you’d better…” He trails off as Martin pulls off of his cock, fixates on a strand of saliva connecting Martin’s lip to the head of his cock, watches it stretch until it breaks. 

Martin wraps his fingers around Jon’s shaft and strokes him firmly and evenly, the friction eased by Jon’s spit-slick skin. He closes his mouth, then his eyes, in anticipation of Jon’s orgasm, which comes on fast. Jon moans openly, thrusts into Martin’s fist, and keeps his eyes fixed on Martin’s face as spurts of come fall across the bridge of his nose, his eyelashes, his lips. He’s incredibly attractive, as always.

“You’re so hot,” Jon tells him, because there’s no reason not to say it, because Martin deserves to know. He finishes wringing Jon dry and Jon reaches for him, pulls him up so they’re face to face, Martin’s eyes cracked open as come drips down his cheeks. “Can I –,” Jon’s voice cracks, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Can I clean you up?”

The implication is clear enough that Martin loses his breath for a moment at the prospect, but he doesn’t need his breath to nod his assent. Jon takes his head in both his hands, cradling him like something fragile and precious, and leans in to lick his come off of Martin’s face. Martin holds stock still as Jon laps at his cheeks, his lips, ever so lightly over his eyes. 

It’s tender and warm, the way Jon maps out Martin’s features with his tongue, peppering open-mouthed kisses across his skin as he goes. He nips at Martin’s chin playfully, sucks a mark into the sensitive skin behind his ear, slips his tongue between Martin’s lips briefly to hear him moan at the shared taste of his come.

Beneath the bitterness of his own seed, Jon relishes the taste of Martin’s skin, the salt of his sweat and tears, the underlying humanity of him. When Martin’s skin is clean but for the sheen of damp in the wake of Jon’s tongue, Jon takes a moment just to look at him, his eyes closed and his full lips parted, his face slack and peaceful.

Opening his eyes, Martin catches the look of unadulterated adoration on Jon’s face for just a second before Jon rushes forward to kiss him. It takes his breath away, the suddenness of it and the softness of it and the slide of Jon’s tongue against his. Martin’s hands find their way into Jon’s hair again, carding through it gently as they kiss, slow and deep and loving.

Jon breaks the kiss by only a hair’s breadth, not even bothering to open his eyes. “D’you think you can give me one more, sweetheart?” he breathes against Martin’s lips.

Martin pauses for a second to process the question, but quickly gives Jon a nod. “Lovely,” Jon whispers, planting another solid kiss on his lips before disentangling from him entirely. “Lie back for me, will you?” Martin does as he’s told, looking up at Jon expectantly, and Jon gives him a soft smile, rests his hands on Martin’s thighs and gives them a reassuring squeeze. “I want to watch you touch yourself for me,” he states simply.

Letting out a shuddering sigh, Martin leans his head back, closes his eyes. He brings his hand between his legs without question, spreading his thighs wide for Jon to see, and begins rubbing small circles around his cock. It’s sore and oversensitive, each brush against the raw nerves igniting a reflex for Martin to jerk away, but he leans into it instead, lets himself feel it all.

He brings his other hand up to his chest, pinches and rolls his nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and then pulls hard to send a jolt of delicious pain down his spine. Breathy little moans escape him with every pass of his fingers over his dick, every tweak of his nipple.

He’s painfully aware of being watched, but Martin revels in it. Basks in the attention, the unfiltered admiration, the wealth of affection he feels rolling off of Jon in waves. He might once have been overwhelmingly self-conscious in a spot like this, but Jon makes him feel safe, makes him feel loved and wanted and  _ known  _ in a way he never thought possible. He makes it easy for Martin to drop his guard and let Jon see his barest self.

Jon rubs calming patterns into the pillowy flesh of Martin’s thighs, murmurs soft snippets of praise while he touches himself. “You’re doing so well,” he says, “my love, my darling boy.”

Martin brings himself over the edge with Jon’s name on his lips, then drops his arms by his side and lets his whole body go limp. Once he’s caught his breath, he half-rolls over and cracks an eye at Jon, who is still sitting there looking at him like he put the sun in the sky. He offers a weak smile, and Jon returns it easily.

“I’m done now,” Martin tells him, sounding small and tired. “I’m never moving again.”

“You don’t want a shower?” Jon asks sincerely.

Martin snorts a short laugh. “Doesn’t matter what I want,” he slurs. “Can’t move. Won’t move. Sleeping now.”

“Okay,” Jon replies, moving up the bed to lie with him, throwing a protective arm over him. “Okay, sleep now. You deserve it, love, you did so well.”

“You can shower if you want,” Martin protests as he feels Jon’s body settle in next to him. “M’just too tired, but you can.”

“I’m not leaving you,” says Jon, a bit more fiercely than strictly necessary, given the circumstance.

Martin appreciates it nonetheless, the passion in his voice and the heat in his eyes and his protective, possessive urge to stay close at this moment. Turning to wrap his arms around Jon, Martin presses a feather-light kiss to the back of his neck. Jon wriggles his hips happily, nuzzling into the warmth of Martin’s body, humming a soft, contented sound. 

On the edge of sleep, Martin closes his eyes and presses his face into Jon’s hair, inhaling deeply. “Love you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with exhaustion and emotion. “Thank you. For… doing this.”

“I love you,” Jon assures him, the words falling easily from his lips. “You didn’t give me much of a choice, did you? You know I can’t resist you, love.”

“Still,” Martin whispers almost inaudibly, “thank you.”

Martin is fast asleep before Jon can reply, so instead he reaches to grab his phone from the nightstand, deactivating his alarm for the morning. Martin was smart enough to plan his masterful manipulation for a Friday, no doubt foreseeing the lie-in they would require and deserve. He’s so clever, Jon thinks with a smile, a swell of pride and satisfaction and affection surging through his chest. 

It’s not really in Jon’s nature to be –  _ dominant, _ in circumstances like these, but Martin seems to be able to bring it out of him whenever it suits him. Jon isn’t complaining, not if it gives him the chance to tend to Martin’s needs and give him pleasure and pull every little reaction from him. It’s a gift, to be afforded the privilege of touching Martin and having him hang on Jon’s every word, doing as he says, begging for more. 

The memories play through Jon’s head, thinking about the way Martin’s face contorted, the soft sounds spilling from his lips, the taste and the feel of him. Jon is really looking forward to showering with Martin in the morning, washing his body and kissing every bruise on his skin. He drifts off to sleep feeling more warm and secure than he has in a long time.


End file.
